Thursday, April 30, 2009

And I liked it.

I don't listen to the radio with the children in the car. Not because I've suddenly decided to be a good, responsible mother or anything. Only because I really enjoy talking to them and can't do very many things at once.

They do get to listen to the radio in the Tae Kwon Do van on the way from the school to the studio. Sometimes they talk about songs they hear.

Like yesterday.

Boy Child, laughing: Mom? You know that song, "I kissed a girl?"?
Me: Yes.
Boy Child, still laughing: Mom! That guy singing it sounds just like a girl!

Oh dear.

Me: Um, honey? It IS a girl singing that.
Boy Child, not laughing: Oh. OH.

A few moments pass, in silence.

Boy Child: Does that mean she's a tri-sexual?
Me: No. Just bi. Bi means two.
Boy Child: Oh.

A few more moments pass, in silence.

Boy Child: Thanks for that information mom. It's very helpful. Bi means two and tri means three!
Me: I'm a mom, health class, AND a math lesson!

I hope Hell isn't horribly hot.I tend to sweat.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

It's going to be a long day.

So I mentioned that I'm the blogger for the company I work for, right? It's awesome in a lot of ways (the writing ways) and not awesome in others (the fact that I'm not a web designer ways).

Last night I was hard at work attempting to design blogger templates. It? Did not go well. I don't take any of this personally, mind you. I'm really, really aware of my limitations. I just want to do better and get extraordinarily frustrated with myself when I don't.

I fell asleep at around midnight, woke up at my usual 3am, was awake until 5:50am, finally, FINALLY fell asleep and then woke up again at 6am.

Then? I went to the bathroom and cried. I do that when I'm exhausted.

I managed to get through the morning routine, managed to make lunches for the children, managed to safely deposit them in front of their school, and then made my way down the long, long stretch of interstate that constitutes my morning commute.

A song came on the radio and I found myself crying again:

I can almost see it
That dream I'm dreaming but
There's a voice inside my head sayin,
You'll never reach it,
Every step I'm taking,
Every move I make feels
Lost with no direction
My faith is shaking but I
Got to keep trying
Got to keep my head held high

There's always going to be another mountain
I'm always going to want to make it move
Always going to be an uphill battle,
Sometimes you going to have to lose,
Ain't about how fast I get there,
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb

The struggles I'm facing,
The chances I'm taking
Sometimes they knock me down but
No I'm not breaking
The pain I'm knowing
But these are the moments that
I'm going to remember most yeah
Just got to keep going
And I,
I got to be strong
Just keep pushing on,

There's always going to be another mountain
I'm always going to want to make it move
Always going to be an uphill battle,
Sometimes you going to have to lose,
Ain't about how fast I get there,
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb

There's always going to be another mountain
I'm always going to want to make it move
Always going to be an uphill battle,
Sometimes you going to have to lose,
Ain't about how fast I get there,
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb

Keep on moving
Keep climbing
Keep the faith baby
It's all about
It's all about
The climb
Keep the faith
Keep your faith


Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Love thy neighbor. Or some crap, I don't know.

We have new neighbors.

I don’t really know them yet. All I know is that they have numerous vehicles parked on their driveway, yard, and in the road. Oh and they have a smoke detector which needs to have the batteries replaced. Because it chirps ALL. THE. TIME. It drives me bananas and I don’t even live there so I cannot fathom how they tolerate it.

There are some small girls who live there or just visit a lot. On Sunday the Boy and the Girl were outside most of the afternoon and the small girls found their way over into our yard. Another boy from across the street came over and the children all played together in a fort made of sticks that the Boy and Girl had thoughtfully constructed in our side yard.

Jason, Ginger, and I sat together in the swing on our front porch. We were a few feet from the children and could hear them laughing and coming up with “code names” for their new, ultra top-secret club. (All the code names had to do with nature. One of the girls is named “Skye”. Code name: “Bunny”. Naturally)

After they had been playing for probably an hour, the front door swung open and a lady came barreling out. Jason and I both nodded at her and Jason said, “How are you doing?” or something equally polite because, apparently, the Southernosity of everyone around us is rubbing off on him.

The woman did not respond. Instead she began calling, loudly, for those girls.

They didn’t respond.

She started to look panicked and I told her, “I believe they are in our side yard”. I walked to the edge of our porch and told the girls “I think your mom is looking for you” and sheepishly, they climbed out and walked across our yard to theirs.

As they climbed the steps to their porch I heard the mother say,
“Don’t go out and play with kids without telling me! You don’t know those people! “

“They’re so nice,” I heard the little girl protest.

And THEN the mom said, and I’m not kidding,

“That man wasn’t even wearing a shirt!”

As I heard the door slam behind her I looked at my husband who was born and raised in Connecticut and has never used the word ain’t in his entire life and I said,

“Oh my GOD. We’re THOSE neighbors!”

And maybe he might have said something like, "We become what we fear most Stephanie!" I wasn't really listening to him.

We don’t ever park in our yard y’all. Not ever.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and people unfriend you on Facebook and take your blog off their reader.

Last night I was horribly, horribly ill.

I don't know why. All I know is that one minute I was sitting on the couch flipping through the latest issue of "Fitness" magazine and the next? I was hair-deep in the toilet puking up my dinner and probably some of my lunch. And I really don't think anything I saw in Fitness made me feel that way (although I am really, really jealous of those skinny bitches in bikinis but that usually doesn't make me puke) , so it was probably something I ate. Probably, if I'm going to be further honest, I have cut so much junk out of my diet that I really shouldn't have stolen french fries from Boy Child's plate at lunch. They so, so did not agree with me.

I staggered out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen to get some water. Jason, thoughtfully said, "Are you okay?"

I told him that other than puking up my left lung, I was awesome.

And he said, "Are you pregnant?"

I laughed then and said, "That would require an act of Congress!" or something.

After that I felt better until I woke up at around 3am when Jason farted and it smelled so bad that the people two streets up from us said, "What the hell was that? Did you smell that? Did a fleet of trucks carrying diseased skunks crash outside our home?"

Then I thought about things (while praying that he wouldn't roll over because at least his back was turned the opposite direction from me when he let that torpedo fly).

I laughed about my infertility.

I laughed.

For years I have wept and sobbed and felt sad and pathetic and sorry for myself. Last night? It was just another part of me, like green eyes or kick-ass hair.

Yesterday Jason was talking about joining a men's group at church. While I am uncertain about what men's groups do (I think they were going to have a fishing tournament and the thought of Jason fishing makes me horselaugh in a really, really unattractive way), I am pleased that he will have an activity. Because, God knows the man sometimes needs a hobby other than harassing me for the washer/dryer and annoying the children by eating all the ice cream. I told him, "I'd like to join the ladies Bible study, but I just cannot fit one more thing in".

And that's true. And you know, you can't just fit a baby in. At this point, my life would really, really have to undergo some serious changes. And while it would be worth it...well.

Let's just say my heart is not cracked as it used to be.

My nose is though. Jesus God that fart was smelly.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Keeping up with myself.

Lately? I'm having a hard time keeping up.

I don't know if it's because I'm getting older or slower or what. I can't keep up with all the blogs I want to read. I can hardly keep up with my own. Every day there is something else or someone else to deal with and I keep thinking, "WAIT!" Because, clearly, I haven't dealt with the things and people from yesterday. Or the day before. Or, hell, last year.

So what do you do? Just give up? Just not bother? Just hope people will be understanding (because, um, they aren't. Believe me)? Never sleep?

I don't know. It's frustrating.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

This is as good as it gets tonight.

I'm so bummed about my car and the more than $800 it took to fix said car, that this is the only thing that made me laugh today. Enjoy!

Friday, April 24, 2009

He can slam revolving doors!

In addition to my completely inexplicable crush on Mr. Fred Dalton Thompson, I am have just a tiny bit of a totally horrifying crush on someone else that isn't my husband. (So don't tell him, okay?)

Alas, I have not been able to keep my crush well hidden for my co-worker brought me something that made me squeal like...well, a girl I suppose.


There are three more. For real. I should have taken pictures of them instead of jacking these from someone else off the internet.

Chuck Norris folders? $1.25.

Getting to tell "Chuck Norris" stories all day long? In my world? That's worth folding money.

Having friends who really get you? Priceless.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Mother Talk Book Review: 10-10-10 By Suzy Welch

Generally? I don't hesitate.

I have things to do. Places to go. People to meet. I make decisions like lightening. I keep things moving.

I just read a book that might, just possibly, change my way of thinking.

In 10-10-10: A Life-Transforming Idea Suzy Welch advises us to first frame the dilemma in the form of a question, and then weigh the pros and cons of the possible outcomes in the present (10 minutes), in the future (10 months) and in the distant future (10 years).

Simple, right?

But not so much, when you think about it.

The present? I do okay with. I generally err on the side of caution when dealing with people. You catch more flies with honey, right? Okay, sometimes when they aren't listening I say something inappropriate. But I'm going to be nice to their face, right? I AM Southern after all.

The 10 months and 10 years? Pfffft. Never. I've never thought ahead like that. Oh sure, I save money and have a 401k and do things like remember to cook dinner (most of the time). But, if I'm being honest, I've hardly ever thought about how my decisions will follow me for years.

This was a timely book for me, as I'm struggling with how to deal with several situations AND I've been pleasantly surprised in how other things are going, just because I've made a small effort.

I really think this book will help me in my decision-making.

I never thought I'd say that about a book. But. There you go. It was a great book!

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Good days.

You know, I was thinking last night about how grateful I am that I have a job.

With unemployment being what it is these days? I'm really, really grateful.

To further expand on that, I'm grateful that I work for a company that is flexible. I'm grateful that I could go to my boss a few weeks ago and say, "Listen...when school starts in the Fall can I modify my work hours so I can pick my kids up from school every day?" and she said, "Of course". I'm even grateful for the fact that I'll have to be get up at the butt crack of dawn to be at work at 6am. Because the commute will be better and I might actually get a parking spot that is close to my office. Right?

I don't punch a time clock. I haven't in...God, years. If I have an appointment, I can go to it. If I need a day off, all I have to do is let my boss know. If I need to leave early to go to therapy or whatever? She's cool with it. She knows I'll stay late the next day or answer all my emails that evening. Whatever I need to do, she knows I'll do it.

More than all that, even, I'm grateful to work for a company that encourages me to be who I am...even though who I am doesn't exactly fit anybody's mold of What's Bringing The Awesome. I try not to wear shoes if I can help it, and I say things like, "Well he can just suck a bag of dicks!" about people I find unpleasant. I mean, I can clean it up pretty good, but overall? I just kind of am who I am.

And they like who I am. Granted, I never say anything about dicks around them. But yeah. They like who I am.

And that's pretty cool.

I work with a group of ladies who are unfailingly supportive, hilarious, bright, and positive. Everyone works hard and we all work together extremely well. There's never a moment that if I need help at least three people aren't offering it. It's actually quite amazing. It helps, I think, that we are all actually fifteen year old boys somehow disguising ourselves as grown women. Because I say dicks around them all the time and they just laugh. And when someone says something like "WAD" we go on for hours. Sometimes days.

I'm feeling lucky today.

It's a good day.

And, it's also my brother's birthday. My real, actual brother. From the same mother, even! He's way funnier than me. So go wish him a good one, will ya?

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Marriage: Day 2110

Jason, fresh after the shower after cleaning the gutters on our home:

"I was so dirty that, this time, I didn't just let the water run over my feet and call them clean. I actually washed my feet!"


Monday, April 20, 2009

Oh. Sadness Snap.

I was moving right along today.

In fact? Despite my mind-numbing cramps that serve only to remind me of personal EPIC FAIL when it comes to fertility? I was having an okay day.

To wit:

1) I kicked the gym's butt after work. Six ways of Sunday, even.
2) I got my new contact lens and can finally pass my employment physical (since, before, I was not street-legal. But don't tell the police, okay?).
3) I got two good pieces of financial news.
4) And! AND! I got to use the words, "rode hard and put up wet" conversationally.

I mean, can you top that day? I think you probably can't.

Then? The children said, "Mom, we have some papers for you!" and what did they hand me?

Registration forms.

For middle school.


Sunday, April 19, 2009

Real life.

I'm sure it's no big surprise that I couldn't sleep last night. I don't sleep well, in general, and lately? I'm anxious. It's worse than usual.

I was up early and a movie I had never seen called Take the Lead. It was pretty cheestastic what with Antonio Banderas dancing around and Alfre Woodard as the tough as nails principal with a heart of gold. I knew how the story would end as soon as it started. Troubled kids with troubled homes. Sexy Spanish man (named Pierre? Okay then) comes in and dances his way into their troubled hearts. They all dress up, go to a fancy ball, win prizes (while dancing really skankily, unfortunately), and life as they know it is better.


And that's good right? That's Hollywood. The credits roll and they all live happily ever after. That's what you wanted to happen. You want the kids from the school of Hard Knocks to "do good". I believe, maybe, the story was even based on actual events.

If you see enough of those movies, I guess, you think it can actually be true. You think that maybe, if you care enough and try enough, you can make a difference too.

But sometimes? You can't.

You can try. Oh God, how you try. You spend your time, your efforts, your money. You give everything you have.

And sometimes? It does no good.

Sometimes you give everything you have and you still lay your head down every night knowing that a little girl is going back home to an abuser. That no matter what you say they will believe they are ugly if they ever, in their life, weigh more than 125 pounds. That there isn't anything in life for them to do other than marry some man, any man, regardless of how he treats you. Because you can't do anything on your own. God forbid you even try.

Sometimes you just have to stop trying.

Because sometimes, just sometimes, you have to save yourself.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Write first, worry later.

My brother gave me this advice.

Write first, worry later.

It's simple, I guess, but in a way kind of profound. Just write. Just fix it. Just get it out.

Worry later.

Tell people who might worry later.

Just get it out.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Upon further reflection.

Have you ever started reading a book and halfway through said to yourself, "Oh my God, I cannot continue reading this book. I HATE the main character"?

I did that this weekend. I started reading and the more I read the angrier I got. I actually became furious, even a bit shaky. I looked at the words and felt sick. I felt like throwing the whole thing in the trash and just being done with it. I love books and cannot imagine throwing a book in the trash. I can't imagine giving up halfway through...the only time I ever did that was recently when I was reading "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas". It pained me to do that as I love Hunter S. Thompson. But I couldn't get through it, and the book I was reading this weekend I couldn't get through either.

The problem is, I suppose, that this is a book that I am writing.

And I, unfortunately, am the main character.

I hate myself in this book. I hate this person from ten years ago. I hate how pathetic she is. How weak. How sad. I read and I feel sick. I feel like this can't be me. This can't be real.

It's real, though. The truth sucks.

Big Jim said things like, "Think about what your choices were" and "Think about how far you've come". He's right, he makes sense, but it doesn't always help. I told him how hard this is and how I'm angry all over again and he said, logically, "You aren't angry again Stephanie. This is the first time you've allowed yourself to be angry".

And I am. He is right. He's almost always right about me.

It's funny. I was so worried that about Jason. His feelings and how he would be portrayed. How twenty-three year old Jason would look to the world, when twenty-three year old Jason isn't thirty-three year old Jason. Not even close.

What I should have been worried about is how twenty-four year old Stephanie looks to thirty-three year old Stephanie.

It's not pretty.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

The past.

I've had a low-grade anger lately, toward Jason.

I hate when I'm angry at him...hate that he's not actually perfect and he's human and does stupid things something. I hate, especially, that I don't just get over it as easily as I should. I hate my frustration.

I got upset with him not long ago about, of all things, the washing machine. I swear, when I become independently wealthy my first purchase is going to be my OWN WASHER AND DRYER that I do not have to share with anyone. If I leave the machine unoccupied for longer than thirty seconds he's putting something to wash in.

I know, I know. What a life, right? If that's the worst of my problems, I guess I'm pretty lucky because God knows most husbands I know don't even do any laundry.

As I was laying next to Jason last night, listening to him snore, it occurred to me that I'm mad at him because I'm writing a book.

Well, not exactly because I'm writing it. But because of what it is, what it says, and what was going on in the time period I am writing about. Which was markedly unfunny and sad and painful and a million other things that I don't really feel like talking about.

I am mad at him about a book.

I know this is not logical. I know all of this was a long time ago. I know that none of this is now and that things are so good now that I can't help but pinch myself sometimes and wonder how I got so lucky.

But I can't forget all the rest.

I wish I could.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Best Easter Observation.

"Girl Child. The Lord died for your sins. The least you could do is share a Tootie Roll with your dad!"

Monday, April 13, 2009

Lost and found.

I didn't really want to join Facebook. Honestly, I didn't. I resisted and resisted and didn't understand what the big deal until finally, while working on a small blogging project with Weight Watchers I finally took the plunge. I told myself it would be good. Good for marketing because, apparently, when you write a book you cease being a person and become a brand. Your life becomes commerce.

That's the way it is with the internet, really, even if you don't have a book. You leave your mark everywhere you go. Everything you say and everything you do is somewhere. You can't really hide, even if you want to.

Despite this, I never, ever thought that in the very same month the girl who was my childhood best friend and the cousin who was my childhood pen-pal would find me on the internet.

The girl who I spent many an hour with, putting on make-up and talking about boys. The one I spent hours and hours with and I remember most vividly from my middle school years and all of those hours and hours and hours at the Mall. The girl with whom I watched Dirty Dancing and ate Little Caesars Pizza. The girl who I listened to 1980's hair bands with and traveled with...all the way to Omaha, Nebraska one summer. I remember we walked around the street in the evening. We shouldn't have been out. A car drove by and a guy leaned out his window and yelled at me, "YOU HAVE BIG BOOBS!" and I remember I said, "THANK YOU!" Because, really, when you are fifteen what the crap do you say to something like that?

The girl who shared all my secrets.

And the girl who would have been my best friend, if she were close by and not a million miles away in Michigan (it's a million miles away when you are a kid and have no car, I think). The girl who is related to me because our fathers are cousins. The girl I saw maybe once a year at a family reunion in the middle of nowhere. The girl who I would labor over letters for. I still remember her handwriting. Even her handwriting was fun.

I don't even remember why we started talking for the first time. Logically, I suppose, we were the two girls at the family reunion around the same age. I try to remember if my other cousins, my first cousins, were there. I imagine they were, but they weren't like us. They liked boys long before we did and they didn't read books the way we did (and oh, how obsessed we were). They wore bikinis and make-up and we didn't.

We talked. In the absence of that, we wrote.

I lost both of them over the years, for different reasons. My childhood friend and I grew apart as we got older. She had a baby and I was a baby. I was still a baby years later when I had my own babies. I don't know how she survived, as young as she was. She and I had a fight over something. What it was, I have no idea. We didn't talk for a few years and then, right before our Senior year of high school she called me and said, "I miss you".

I missed her too, even though things had changed. And they had changed. I had a 21 year old boyfriend, for one, and I thought he was going to swoop in and save my life.

I was different.

Around that time was the last time I saw my cousin as well. I remember the last family reunion I saw her at. The aforementioned boyfriend was with me and, sadly, he had very limited social graces. We didn't really get to talk and eventually I stopped going to family reunions. I had work, I had school...there was always something. The boyfriend's face faded away and was replaced by a husband who had no interest in family; not his, not mine, and, as it turns out, not ours.

Years have passed. A lot of years.

I'm different now too.

It doesn't matter though. We all are. My cousin is married and has a daughter of her own. My friend has three boys...not little boys, big boys. Her little sister, who I used to carry around, has two little girls and a husband. We're all grown-up's now.

But what matters are the ways we are the same.

How my cousin still loves to read just like me. We still write, except now it's emails and, for both of us, books. How I feel like I can talk to her about anything at all and she will not only understand it, she will get it (and there is a huge difference. Trust me). How I feel, sometimes, like she is the reason that I belong in my family. That even if I never understand where I come from, I can look at her and think, "I belong. I fit here". Even if I fit nowhere else in this world.

My friend is still the same sweet soul. Still the same person who loves so fiercely. Still makes me laugh with her brutal honesty and her open, candid heart. As a child I always wanted to protect her from the things I thought would ruin her life, but now as an adult I see that all those things have shaped her into the wonderful woman she is today. How, if she didn't have those life experiences, she wouldn't be who she is. And what a tragedy that would be for everyone who loves her.

I'm growing up. I'm becoming something. I'm not sure what yet, but it's something.

I'm moving ahead. I'm looking behind.

Sunday, April 12, 2009


I imagine it's quite easy to be nothing at all.

Quite easy.

Saturday, April 11, 2009


I have noticed that the file for my next book that I am currently working from is entitled, simply, "Sad".

I have noticed that this is a very apt title.

I have noticed, with some amazement, that there are a lot of people who really liked me better when I just stood around and took their crap. I've noticed that when I stand up for myself people say, "You've changed".

I have noticed that change? Is not a dirty word.

I have noticed that I've grown quite weary of the excuse of "that's just how they are". Because sometimes, when you use that excuse? What you really mean is "they are mean-spirited and hateful and no one will call them on it".

I have noticed that it's not okay with me.

Not at all okay with me.

I've noticed that, even though I'm incapable of reproducing and generally don't care to hear anything about creamy eggwhite consistancy mucus coming from anywhere, I'm still never going to get ahead in certain areas of my life because I'm a girl. I've noticed that it doesn't matter how smart I am or how hard I work...there are still going to be people who are dicks to me just because they have one and apparently they don't know any other way to be.

I'm not okay with that either.

I've noticed that I'm noticing a lot these days.

I've noticed that not much of it is very pleasing.

Friday, April 10, 2009

See? I can do stuff.

Not long ago, I did this:

Pretty, yes? It's above my kitchen stove, in case it's not obvious.

Today, I did this:

And this:

Oh yeah, and about 11.5 years ago, I made this:

Which is, clearly, the best of all of it.

Thursday, April 09, 2009

I might have mentioned this a few thousand times before but in case I didn't, I need to tell you that I'm writing a book.

And even though I've already written a book? This book is really hard to write.

Not because I don't remember.

I guess because I do remember.

It's not fun to remember that my husband hasn't always been the Princiest of Prince Charmings. It's not easy to paint the picture of our relationship in such a way that you read it and don't hate him and actually want to continue reading it. Frankly, I don't want to think about all of this. I don't like thinking about it.

But yet, I don't want to lie. I don't want to mislead. I don't want us to be anything except exactly what we are. Because what we are is pretty awesome.

But what we were at one point? Not so much.

How we got from there to here, I hope, is pretty interesting. I just have to find a way to make you not hate us so you can get to that point.

This is not easy.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

Open Letters: I-drive-my-kids-to-school-every-day-edition!

Dear Bitchface,

Sweetness, I know this is probably hard for you to grasp because, bless your heart, you are just stupid, but here is the basic premise of the drop-off lane at the Elementary school:
1) Pull your car into the drop-off lane at a speed of approximately 5 miles per hour
2) Stop your car by gently stepping on your brakes (this is important! Don't stop your car and get out! JUST step on the brakes gently)
3) Wait for the Safety patrol to open the door OR let your child open his or her own door
4) Allow child enough time to exit your vehicle
5) Drive away, satisfied that your child has, once again, begun another fun-filled day of learning

See? Easy.

This is not so much what you do.

Hon, if you are really SO CONCERNED that your six-year old will not take the less than 10 steps that are required for them to ACTUALLY ENTER THE SCHOOLHOUSE that you feel it is necessary to SIT BLOCKING THE ENTIRE DROP-OFF LANE while Polly Polly Princess walks in? Then perhaps you should look into homeschooling.

What? Do you think she's going to make a mad dash for the street? There are like twenty adults standing there. She's already on the freaking sidewalk for God's sake. She's not going ANYWHERE except inside, particularly since it's like twenty degrees and you, for God knows what reason, have allowed your child to wear a short-sleeved Hannah Montana t-shirt and a pair of capri pants to school.

On that note, what the crap is wrong with you that you let your child dress like it's Mardi Gras when it's 20 degrees and snowing outside? Bitch, please.



Dear Moronhole,

For the love of God.

If you are going to park in the parking lot and expect your child to dart through the drop-off lane like Frogger in 1982 could you at least PLEASE NOT WALK HALFWAY WITH THE CHILD and then PUSH HIM IN THE DIRECTION OF THE SCHOOL?

Because seriously? I wanted to either a) run you over, b) call the cops on you, or c) all of the above. You don't PUSH your child, ever, and especially not when cars are coming. Douche.

If you are all that freaking concerned about being on time to buy your drugs or whatever the crap you have to do at 7:10am (and since you are wearing what appears to be a vomit-stained t-shirt, I sincerely doubt it's any type of gainful employment) then SEE THE ABOVE GUIDELINES FOR THE DROP-OFF LANE. It's not that difficult and you don't even have to stop your truck.

Thanks for that. Ass.

Dear Bitch in the Big Dog Pajamas,

It's really nice of you to actually park your vehicle in a designated parking space, exit your vehicle, and walk your child into the school. I'm sure you are a fine mother and your child appreciates this loving gesture very much.

However, Hagface, could you please just not walk right into the drop-off lane without looking because you are talking to your mom or your pimp or whatever on your cell phone?

Also, sunshine, it sort of negates any special memories you have with your child when you spend the entire time yapping to someone else and not even giving the child a kiss goodbye.

So. Work on that. You're supposed to be the responsible one and not bothering to look and/or thinking you are so important that everyone should just slam on their brakes to avoid hitting you is not a good example for your child.


PS: Yes, I honked at you. I don't care if my horn was right next to you. And if you step out in front of my car without looking again? I'm going to rev my engine to see if you pee your pants.

PSS: Put on some jeans next time, okay? Those pajama pants make your butt look huge.

PSSS: Have a great day!

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Ask Brandon Walsh if he likes me, okay?

Shelf space next to Tori Spelling at the bookshop? That's about ten pounds of awesome stuffed into a five pound sack.

Monday, April 06, 2009

Still on the fence?

You can get a Sneak Peek of my book in your very own email, if you so desire.

You can even sign up for it just because you want something other than spam about enlarging your penis to come into your inbox. That's what I did.

Sunday, April 05, 2009

Well, "sorry" doesn't put the Triscuit crackers in my stomach, now does it Karl?

Somehow, the TiVo has figured out that Jason and I are actually fifteen year-old boys impersonating responsible adults, so it taped Billy Madison for us. From one of the movie networks, even, so there weren't any commercials.

Jason decided that it was necessary to share this cinematic gem with the children, but they were not sure about it. Especially the Girl.

As the opening credits rolled, the Boy One said, worriedly,

"This is PG-13!"

"We can't watch it," the Girl One announced. "We're only PG-11."

They liked it. A lot.

Saturday, April 04, 2009

Happy Birthday. For real.

Today is the Boy one's girlfriend's birthday. Or at least her party. He doesn't know if it's actually her birthday or not because, clearly, he is right on track in becoming a normal man.

This morning he accompanied me to my eye doctor appointment at the mall because after my appointment we were going to see if we could procure a gift for the Girlfriend Child. He had already purchased for her a small, plastic horse (because she liked horses) and a small, blank book (because she, apparently wants to be a writer and he, obviously, has really good taste in women). I told him he might want to get her one more thing because these two items together and with tax, cost $2.14 and while I'm sure she'll like them, he can do just a bit better since it's the girl's birthday and whatnot.

He was thinking about things he might like to get her and asked me if there were any toy stores in the mall. I told him I was sure there were toy stores, but maybe we might want to go to Claires and get her something. That, after all, is a store that his sister would like and since his sister is the same age as Girlfriend Child, she's probably a good indicator. I said, "You probably want to get her girl stuff instead of toys".

"Girl stuff?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Not toys. Just...girl stuff."

He looked dubiously at me and said, "Okay then. But I'm not buying her tampons."

"Um, okay," I said.

"And we're not going anywhere NEAR that underwear store!"

No problem.

Friday, April 03, 2009

You might get stabbed.

Since I've known Jason for like...ever, I try really hard to keep things interesting in our marriage. I get really freaked out when I tell him a story and he gives me this face and says, "Um, you've already told me that" because what's going to happen when we're sixty or whatever? He knows all my stories already, so pretty much we're screwed.

In the spirit of that fear, I often write him little notes.

The other day? I wrote him a note which might maybe have possibly been a bit racy.

Okay, it was ridiculous.

And no, I'm not telling what it said. Don't even ask.

ANYWAY, I left it in his wallet and giggled to myself all day, thinking about what his reaction must have been.

I came home from work, children beside me, and went on about my usual after-work routine. As I was booting up the computer to write my self-mandated daily 1000 words on my next book, I heard Girl Child reading.

She was reading the note I left for Jason.


He got a call.

Oh yes.

And maybe? I might have possibly threatened to never do anything mentioned in the note. EVER AGAIN.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

He gets it honestly.

The Boy one brought home his yearbook today. There is a very cute candid shot of him standing with his girlfriend during exercise time.

I realized that everything that his teacher has ever said about him was absolutely true. Because you could tell, in the picture, that he was talking.

I really don't think he ever stops. Honestly I don't.

And yes. He learned it by watching me, alright? He learned it by watching me!